


Living On A Dream Ain’t Easy

by Pink_and_Velvet



Category: Duran Duran, The Power Station (Band)
Genre: Band aid, Band split, Bars, Chatting Up, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Innuendo, Jokes and Insults, M/M, Pining John, Power Station, Vodka, Wandering eyes, fight me, night out, they have chemistry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25331068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/pseuds/Pink_and_Velvet
Summary: John’s never been so depressed, with the album and the band on the brink of breaking up. Thankfully, a dear friend helps to save him from himself.
Relationships: John Taylor/Paul Young
Comments: 7
Kudos: 11





	Living On A Dream Ain’t Easy

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a pairing that I’ve really come to adore these past few months. I’ve been refraining from writing anything for them, though finally the other week I attempted it.
> 
> It’s safe to say I like what I’ve come up with. I know this isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, though I could really see a full series of these two during _Power Station _era! ❤️__
> 
> Title from Paul Young’s ‘Love Of The Common People’ 💖❤️

_March 1985_

_Central London_

Taking another whiff of the whisky he held, he couldn’t help but notice his hands were trembling slightly. It was only a second tumbler, he knew he could handle much more if the night demanded a party. Though something told John, just another soul lost in the heady air and low light, that tonight didn’t need to end with him blacking out. In a random bird or lad’s bed, for that matter.

He felt oddly lost, having entered with Andy and having been simply shrugged off as soon as he and his guitarist stepped into the club. Sulking, John stopped to think about it. Voicing his frustrations into his glass, he took another sip, wincing slightly as the amber liquid pelted his tongue.

John had been roaming the club alone for a while now, seeking out the right man to lighten his mood. He didn’t fancy bringing anybody down tonight, for the air was uneasy and he was unnaturally tense. Perhaps it was the album. The deadline vastly approaching, the pressure of keeping up with the far more superior musicians he had on side.

John was the eye candy, the pretty boy who could do no wrong. That much he knew.

He didn’t feel the slightest bit pretty tonight.

Though he had recognised people, _his_ _people_ he supposed he could say. The odd fleeting grin, knowing wave, the usual impersonal greeting. That wasn’t enough for him tonight and yet, somehow, he was keeping all digits to himself. Just watching, reddened eyes aching as he couldn’t focus. Couldn’t find the _one_ , whoever he may be, tonight.

Slinking away from the bar, John went in search of a solemn and darkened corner. His second tumbler of the night was burning in his hands. He watched on, taking the odd sip, not quite drowning his sorrows. He was determined not too, biting back a sob.

He wasn’t sure how but he had been approached. A couple famous faces, no one he knew too well. Andy was likely long gone, to another once familiar haunt round central London. John sighed, he guessed it didn’t bother him as such.

John was in the right frame of mind to finish this drink up, grab a bottle of beer for the road and hightail it out of there. He could wallow in self pity back in his apartment in Knightsbridge. If only he didn’t have to spend another lonesome night delving deep into another lonesome nightmare.

He supposed he could call Simon, see how the whole other half were doing. Their album and whatnot, that’s if Simon was even still in London. Pinner wasn’t a million miles away and yet, taking another sip, John realised that really was a trek he didn’t care to make. A number he didn’t care to dial. Never mind approaching Nick out of the blue.

Upping from his seat, squinting as the familiar hoard of sweaty drinkers occupied the dance floor, he ducked and shimmied his was through. Knocking into God only knows who, yelling ‘shove off’ after ‘shove off’, before running into another man.

Tripping over his own feet, the last of the whisky flowing over the top; he had a face full of silver fabric.  
  


“Oh, damn it!”

He staggered his weight, suddenly feeling a little dizzy. And wet.

“Shit, sorry I…” the front of John’s blazer was stained with whisky, he momentarily debated licking it off.

He could’ve sworn he was hearing tinkly music, maybe there even was a halo forming. A spotlight, any form of light, forming on the two of them.

He cringed at how pathetic that thought was.

“Umm, sorry?”

Instead, John was met by a dashing smile, a warm hand clutching his shoulder and a heavenly voice rolling off of a heavenly tongue.

“I said,” he had to raise his voice slightly, drawing John in closer so he could hear, “no worries, John. It’s great to see you again.”

Nodding, “you too Paul. Feels like _forever_.”

“Are you alone? The infamous JT, partying hard _alone?_ ” Paul mocked, raising a brow.

John faced his drink, determined to keep smiling.

“Now I’m not,” he grinned inwardly, the cocky shit beginning to emerge. “Why don’t you, you know, _join_ me? We could use a catch up.”

He was met by another handsome smile, a simple nod and before long they were both at the bar, retreating from the bar and on the hunt for an enclosed space where each pop star could hear themselves think. They found themselves back to John’s first hideaway, it was far less dreary and mocking the second time around.

“So New York huh John, that must be exciting.”

“A break more like, chance to _breathe_.”

John’s mood was rapidly increasing, as opposed to the alcohol flow. He was chatting again, laughing again; finding that his earlier inner terrors were bleeding away into something much happier.

His spirits were being lifted more and more as the conversation flowed. Catching up was working wonders for John. He listened carefully, pitching in and laughing harder – the way he would when he was really feeling it, tossing his head back in wild abandon with a rhythmical laugh that could be heard from the rooftops. Slapping his right knee in elation.

“And did it even work?”

Neither man could believe that _Band Aid_ was only months ago, it honestly felt like another lifetime.

Grinning, “who gives a crap. All it proves is that us, our collective…” John waggled his brows, drawing another snigger from Paul, “the _power_ musicians have over the world, eh?”

“You’re right. I don’t know what’ll change, no matter how much money the record made.”  
  


“All those egos in one room, you know, thank fuck I’m not a singer.” His Brummie drawl grew more profound, taking another scorching sip.

“At least you didn’t have to open the bloody thing!” Paul rolled his dark eyes, John couldn’t help but snort.

“And what an opening it was!” He cheered, nodding enthusiastically. “ _It’s Christmas time, there’s no need to be afraid_.” He sang softly, Paul joining in to strengthen John’s vocal.

“Yeah…” there was a pause, John grimaced, “there are reasons why Simon is your lead singer.”

“ _Wanker_ ,” John scoffed, lightly smacking Paul’s silvery jacketed arm.

The stories were endless, memories flowing. John found himself to be floating, almost, riding on Paul’s smooth voice and aching for when he’d crack another dashing smile.

“You’re a fan?” Paul sounded a little astonished, John beamed.

“Hell yeah, man! Have been hooked since I first ‘eard your _Joy Division_ cover. Wow...”

He focused his eyes, knowing his head was a little cloudier now. He kept up, leaning in, placing his hands on Paul’s shoulder. His arm. His hand.

“… when recording _No Parlez_ I sang with these two chicks who were both— uh, JT?” Paul stammered, gaze fleeting downwards.

John followed that gaze, landing right to his hand resting atop of Paul’s atop of the table – where the whole world could see. His skin was silky smooth, not surprisingly free of the callouses John himself knew so well. Those fingers were long and slick, an insignia ring on his right ring finger, that was cooling John’s heated skin.

“John?” Paul tried again, voice more gruff than before.

The realisation slapped him in the face. John withdrew his hand, hot, grimacing like mad.

John cursed himself, face flushing. He knew that he couldn’t blame that sudden blush on purely the alcohol alone: he’d been talking so much that he had barely drank anything new.

“Shit, sorry, I… I dunno why I did that.” He rambled, hands awkwardly settling back atop of his leather coated lap. “Forget ‘bout it.”

John’s gaze fell downwards, noticing the strain. He was thankful his pillar box red boxy blazer was swallowing his figure; he could keep covered.

“Don’t worry John.” Paul’s fingertips closed around his glass instead. “Tell me, what was it about the new track? View To A what now?”

“ _Kill_ , yeah. I had the last meeting with John Barry and honestly, you know, it’s all ready to record and I’m uh…”

John’s voice was dulled to nothing. As Paul had raised his glass to his lips, tipped his head back and took a healthy swig. John watched, eyes widening, as that Adam’s Apple bobbed, as that neck was elongated and surely covered in a light sheen of sweat.

He coughed, sending his own drink to his lips poorly covering it.

“… climbing the charts. Who knows, maybe we’ll both be jockeying for the top spot this summer?!”

Paul was talking again, John could’ve sworn his eyes were focused on one thing and one thing only.

Placing his glass down, John’s hands crept further from him before he could comprehend where they were going. His fingertips had a life of their own, his mouth was sure to follow, quivering as he searched for the warmth that was sure to radiate from those parted and moist lips.

Those parted and moist lips that John’s eager own had closed onto. His hands were cupping Paul’s face, his eyes were shut and he could’ve sworn, desperate to soak up the moment, Paul was starting to kiss him back.

He pulled away, hot, having been scorned. John couldn’t believe what he had done.

“Shit I’m… Paul man, I’m so freakin’ _sorry_ I, I don’t know why I did that, sorry.” He rambled, opal eyes darting in their sockets.

“Hey, hey John,” John didn’t dare to look at him, “John, whatever, it’s okay.”

He perked up, “no, no it’s not!” He flushed, hands shaking as he could still feel the heavenly lips John himself had attacked with fervour. “You’re not gay and I… _fuck_ , you know.”

Blushing deeper, skin nearly as bright red as his blazer, John stumbled to standing. Looking down, searching for Paul’s silhouette, John grumbled out: “I don’t wanna…”

“Take advantage?”  
  


Impossibly flushing crimson through and through, “yeah. I’m _sorry_ alright, I’ll just… yeah. See you round.”

He was boxed in, too many bodies to count. John couldn’t sense an escape route, though couldn’t stay there. He was too embarrassed, having outed himself so, he almost missed that touch on his shoulder; pivoting him around.

“John, listen to me, it’s _okay_. It doesn’t matter, I’ll forget it if you want me to.” Paul spoke with such a firmness, a sincerity, that John had to listen.

Still unable to make eye contact, “are you sure? I didn’t, fuck I, I uh,”

John was silenced, a smooth hand cupped his cut cheek. He knew they were both mildly buzzed, still nowhere near enough to blame for what he had done. “It’s not like you rammed your tongue down my throat, or anything – thank fuck.”

“You’re not gay, I’m sorry I even tried—”

“John,” there was a slight frustration in his voice, “it’s _okay_.” He was reassured. “You’ll forget by morning anyways, I know you.”

Feeling like a child who was about to be thrown over the desk and beaten in school, John nodded and still found his feet much more interesting to look at.

John stiffened, that hand had rounded his face and was drawing it back up. Cupping his chin, John was met by Paul’s piercing eyes and small smile. He wasn’t mad, John could tell. A little irked maybe, though not at all mad. He forced himself to relax some, running a shaky hand down his own nylon covered chest.

“I’ll just, you know,” John motioned to the crowd, ready to slip away again.

“No need, finish your drink at least.” Paul’s smile was warm, inviting John back to his seat.

“Can I, uh, do that again?” John stammered out before he could stop himself.

“Do what?”

John flushed darker.

“ _Kiss_ me again? Take me home?” Paul chuckled, raising a brow. “I don’t do that on the first date.”

“You ass, you know what I meant?!” John giggled nervously. “Kiss you, yeah.” Biting his bottom lip, John again was planning the escape route. He couldn’t embarrass himself any further.

Steadying him, reminding him of his presence; Paul enrapt his hand around John’s, surely he was studying the callouses bought about by his bass strings.

“I don’t, fuck…” John’s eyes landed to their palms as they brushed and his voice dropped. “Don’t wanna be alone tonight. I could use a friend, you know?”

Their eyes met, both blown dark in the low light but gleaming with something much more meaningful and light. Friendly, reassuring.

John was led back to their table, a warm hand on his lower back. He could feel it through his boxy blazer, the heat that it bought about was burning his skin beneath the fishnet vest. Slowly, he cracked a small smile to himself as he again took a seat.

Doing so, now back in the bowels of the club, John saw his moment. The sparkle in those eyes. _To hell with it_ – his mind sang. He leaned in, beckoning Paul to follow. His pinky lips parted, daring Paul to follow. John initiated the melody, letting Paul write the score and set the tempo.

Their lips met once, twice, then locked in their hold. He felt Paul break away first, John moaning softly, licking his lips to savour the taste of him.

“As a _friend_ , yeah JT?” Paul winked, John’s heart skipped a childish beat.

That told John, along with the friendly grin, that maybe just maybe: he could do more than kiss.

“Wanna, erm, get out of ‘ere?” He babbled, downing the last of his drink.

They locked eyes again. John held out a shaky hand, letting out a breath he didn’t know to be holding as Paul took it. Feeling that strong, masculine aura about him, behind and all around him, John couldn’t help but smile knowing that he would be anything but alone that night.

As _friends_ , that look said, for sure.

**Author's Note:**

> Also inspired by these lovely photographs, I adore more every time I see them! ❤️⚡️
> 
> https://madamepinkvelvet.tumblr.com/post/623619449014124547


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